“Live free, or die.”
This is the motto of His Mansion Ministries, a very unique rehab program. Here, instead of fancy medical equipment or clean, white washed walls, you’d find farm equipment, lumber, and cows, chickens, and pigs. And here, I found a wide range of people, pain, and symbols.
“I think…”
My eyes grew a little wide and I felt a slow spread of goose bumps. It was a simple response to a simple question. But the implications were far-reaching as I latched onto the history and weight the phrase carried.
Because I'd asked this man, whom I’d just met, how old he was. He said “Twenty-two…I think." I began to look at him in a new light. He was more than just a tall fellow with dark hair and brown eyes. He was more than just splitting wood with an axe. He was more than just a man. He suddenly had a long and dark past. One I knew would break my heart if I knew the entirety of it. My mind raced.
“You think? How…where were your parents? Did they not… Were you abandoned? Were you a nameless child in the riff raff of the poor and hurting. Did you fall in with the wrong crowd? Were you born into the wrong crowd? Did your despair bring you low? Did your sorrow bring you here?”
I said none of this. What does one to say to such hurt? But the fact that he stood before me, willing and able to speak with me, was a testament to the redemptive power of Christ. He was on a journey of healing. He said it was hard. Which is perhaps the biggest understatement I’ve heard in a long time.
“I’m 20," another said, as he stared ahead.
Jesse, a fellow mission team member continued to ask questions of another resident there at His Mansion. “Do you have family in Arizona?”
“Yeah, a daughter,” the man went on, continuing to stare ahead. Jesse nodded his head briefly, blonde hair bobbing as he did so. “How old is she?”
“Three”
“He’s a father.” I thought, “My goodness he has a kid and is only a year older than me.” I suddenly saw myself in his shoes. The idea of barely having a footing in life and having the responsibility of a daughter on my shoulders would tear me apart. Yet this man, was clearly trying to turn his life around.
Because that’s what they were all there for. Every man and woman staying there had reached a point where they had said, "Enough. This ends now.” And they all were trying to heal from deep, complex anguish. The pasts of these people were dark, riddled with hatred, grief, deceit, betrayal, and evil. These were rape victims, abused children, former drug addicts, convicted felons, the broken and forgotten of society.
And yet, they were different. Because through these people, I saw the extreme, radical nature of God’s grace demonstrated. I saw the powerful, life changing, healing effects of Christ’s power. For they were all there to change, they were searching for Christ, His hope and His love.
And why was I there? I didn’t know before getting in that car on that crazy Thursday night. But now, I think I have an inkling.
“Adios Se la Gloria”
An old man, affluent, many grandchildren, lived in a nice neighborhood in a nice house said this to me the first morning of the trip. He was a picture of success. He was a stark contrast to the rest of the mission trip, but it is where it started. For with one phrase I was thrown back to San Pedro, Guatemala.
It was sunny, a group of Guatemalan children stood facing us. The sun shone on their heads, we stood in the shade of the roof. The children were singing. And this was the song they were singing, their eyes closed, as they praised the God of the universe. Adios Se la Gloria. Adios Se la Gloria.
"To God be the glory."
I rubbed my eyes. I looked down at my muffin. It was dark outside, 3 a.m., Vancouver Washington. Yes. This man had said that. This man who had opened up his home to us so that our team might spend the night before we board the plane for New Hampshire had said that phrase. It was a strange thing to experience at such a strange time. This was the first symbol.
It was cold. My fingers were numb and my nose cherry red. I shoved my hands in my pocket as I climbed up the mountain towards the cell tower. Tessa, our group leader, said this was a super cool spot to see. She was familiar with the His Mansion campus, having spent a summer there as an intern. I rounded the corner, and looked up the hill. There it was, the cell tower, wrapped in a chain link fence, standing out amongst the pine trees.
It was hot, unbearably dry. I was with friends whom I’d met a year ago and hadn’t seen for the same amount of time. I was in Glorietta, New Mexico, approaching the summit. I smiled, the cell tower coming into view. My friends laughed around me. I had made it to the second week of my summer mission trip.
My breath appeared in front of me. I blinked. Again, it had happened, this sudden throwback to one of my past life experiences. I was beginning to become suspicious. I made it to the top, making my way to the view I came up to see. I walked towards three crosses, overlooking the mountains of New Hampshire.
Our group followed after Michael Tso, the director of training and development at His Mansion. He was giving us a tour of the campus. We followed him into his office where he began to explain the story about a few of the items in his office. He showed his sword, a replica of Anduril, flame of the west. He explained that it was a symbol and reminder of his own manhood, something his father had failed to adequately demonstrate to him. He then stated that we should be on the lookout for symbols on this trip and the meaning behind them.
It took all of my will power to not start leaping up and down in excitement.
That night, under the light of a crystal clear night sky, I began praying for guidance. The stars have always been a beautiful thing to admire. As I prayed, I reflected on two other similar scenarios where I had found myself alone out in a field under the stars. The first was in the already mentioned Glorietta, New Mexico. The second was in Bend, Oregon. And in both instances, I had seen a shooting star as I was praying.
Well it happened again. I must have looked ridiculous, running around, jumping up and down in that field.
God was clearly telling me something. This trip, was unique in many ways. For one, I was out of my element. I was working with strong men, used to hardship and challenge. While I had been faced with challenge before, my challenges were less than physical. I would often finish the day feeling drained and worn, but over joyed. The people there inspired me. To see their stories and pasts, and to see that they were working to change the direction of their lives was incredible.
And it seemed like God was and is attempting to change my direction in life. For the symbols continued. Often the men would play hacky sack. Nothing is funnier than seeing grown men play hacky sack. But this wasn’t the first time I had played it.
I was in Miami, Florida. It was loud, I was tired and reaching the breaking point. But despite that, I couldn’t help but laugh as I played hacky sack with a few of the children there. They laughed and smiled, which was odd, knowing the struggles they faced. For this was inner city Miami. These children had scene horrors that I can scarcely imagine. And yet, there I was, playing and laughing with them.
And there I was, playing hacky sack with grown men who had seen horrors I can’t scarcely imagine, playing and laughing with them. God was knocking at my heart. It seemed He was whispering to me “You see the joy you have here. My plan for you would involve this sort of joy. I’m calling you son. Go. Go unto the nations."
The last full day was soon upon us. And I found myself leading worship with someone else’s violin. I had come on this trip thinking “No. I don’t need to bring an instrument. This isn’t that kind of mission trip. This isn’t about me getting up and leading worship. I’m here to serve.”
God clearly had other ideas. Tessa got up to speak. She spoke about how organizing this mission trip was the first she felt called by God to do something specific. It was in that moment, that I realized, most assuredly that this is what God was doing with me. He was calling me. Even when I didn’t come on a mission trip prepared to lead worship, God provided me with the means to do it. Music, worship, missions- they are all connected. Somehow, music and missions were going to become one. I still do not know how that is going to happen. But I know this is what God is calling me to do. The message was to clear and to loud to ignore.
“Live free or die."
In Christ, we are free, and in anything else, we are dead. Friends, may we live.
Soli Deo Gloria.
